Fallen
by Shunyata Ryuen
Summary: Hotohori and Nuriko have finally realized their feelings for each other, but the road ahead is far from clear. Sequel to Risen, but includes a brief summary for those who haven't read it.
1. Disclaimers, Notes, and Risen In Brief

Repost - 4/30/05

**Disclaimer:** Fushigi Yuugi wa watashi no ja nai.

**Warnings: **There are some serious, mature issues dealt with in this fic, involving** _depression_, _masochism_,** and **_thoughts of suicide_. **These issues are dealt with in _**graphic detail**_, so if you are sensitive to these subjects or think you might be, please don't read this fic. Also to be found in this fic is Tasuki language, a depiction of a male/male romantic relationship, and _**SPOILERS**_ for episode 33 and a great deal of the series.

**NOTE ON REPOSTING:** Due to the incredibly sensible and not in any way insane mandate against script fics, the following "_Risen_ In Brief" has been altered so as not to offend the delicate, script-hating eyes of the admin, who are kind and just and good, and certainly could never be called "power-tripping nazis" or "soul-devouring bastards."

* * *

****

Risen: In Brief  
_narrated by Tasuki  
_

Arright, so ya know what happened ta Nuriko up on that mountaintop. Or at least, ya _better_ know, 'cause I ain't gonna tell ya again!

Anyway, so we got the damn shinzaho from those ghosty bastards in the cave, an' then the second we got out, some fucking wolf showed up an' tried to grab it from Miaka--but I fried his ass real good, an' so that asshole Nakago didn't get his filthy hands on our shinzaho. Now, ya might think that's not how the story went--that the damn wolf _did_ get the shinzaho away from us an' maybe some other fucked up stuff happened after that, but that ain't how it happened, so ya better get used to it!

Anyway, so we were all hangin' out back at the inn for awhile after that, all bummed an' shit 'cause…well, ya know why. But then next thing ya know, Chiriko's got some fucked up idea that he knows how ta bring Nuriko back to life--iunno how the hell he figured it out, 'cept he was holed up in the library fer a hell of a long time, so maybe he found some book or somethin'…I dunno. The important part's that whatever he figured out, it turned out it wasn't just some made-up shit--it was fucking _real_. An' next thing ya know, Nuriko's _alive_ again--only the guy's not quite right, ya know? It was like he forgot all this shit about his life, like it happened _different_ for him or somethin'.

Oh, I guess ya wanna know how. Eh, go complain to Ryuen; I didn't wanna do this damn thing in the first place. I ain't no fucking storyteller!

But arright, I'll give it a try. She'll probably find some way to get me fucking pregnant again if I don't.

Arright, so gettin' back to Nuriko, it was kinda like everything that hadda do with his sister--ya know, the one that died when he was little--was all blanked outta his mind. He didn't remember havin' anybody but a big brother, an' he sure as hell didn't remember cross-dressin' for all those years, or bein' in love with Hotohori-sama or nothin'--an' when I tried to remind him, the guy accused _me_ of bein' the fuckin' okama!

Tama, shut the fuck up! I can hear ya laughin'!

Anyway, so Chichiri figured it was 'cause Nuriko had all these memories from the afterlife--ya know, fuckin' halos an' clouds an' all that happy flowery shit. An' if he'd a' remembered that stuff down here, he'd a' been all depressed, 'cause…well, great as bein' alive can be, it's got lotsa pain in it. Pain, an' sadness, an' all sorts a' other shit that can make ya feel real down if ya think about it--an' I guess havin' ta come back ta that after bein' in the Sky, bein' all happy an' shit in paradise, woulda been too much for any guy to take. So somebody fixed it so Nuriko just couldn't remember, an' since bein' with his sister was such a big part a' his bein' happy up there, they made it so he just didn't remember her at all.

Anyway, so even with Nuriko back an' all, there was still the little matter of havin' to get the _other_ shinzaho. An' since Nakago an' those bastards were tryin' ta get their hands on the one we already had, we figured it'd be best to get it back to Konan where it'd be safe. So since Nuriko wasn't exactly himself an' Chiriko was actin' really fucking weird, Chichiri magicked the two of them an' Miaka back to Konan, while the rest of us headed out ta look for the other shinzaho.

Now, I wasn't there fer the stuff that happened at the palace after that. Like I just said, I was off with 'Chiri an' Mits an' Tama, lookin' for the shinzaho. But from what I heard about it later, seems like havin' Nuriko pushin' him away all of a sudden…it _did_ somethin' ta Hotohori. Made him realize shit he maybe wouldn't a' realized otherwise. 'Cause iunno, it's easy ta take somebody for granted when they're always _there_, ya know? But when they're gone…when all of a sudden, the guy ya thought was always gonna be there is _gone_…yeah, it does somethin' to ya. Makes ya realize how ya really felt about 'im. An' I guess for Hotohori, how he really felt was…well, I ain't gonna get fucking _mushy_ or nothin', but it made him realize that maybe he _did_ feel somethin' for Nuriko, only bein' so hung up on Miaka an' what was good fer the country an' all that got in the way.

Arright, so let's fucking wrap this up. I got places ta be an' saké ta drink.

Okay. So long story short, turns out Chiriko had some bad shit happen ta him when he was little, an' that's what made him so damn obsessed about bringin' Nuriko back. I ain't gonna get into why, though, 'cause that's the little guy's own business, not _yours_. An' as for Nuriko…well, he kept havin' these nightmares, like the stuff he was forgettin' was tryin' to work its way back up. He didn't let it, though, an' kept tellin' Hotohori ta get the hell away from him an' stuff…but this one time when he did that, Hotohori'd fucking had _enough_. Nuriko was pushin' him away an' it was lookin' like the two of 'em were never gonna be friends again, so Hotohori figured that this was _it_--this was the end. An' after all that time of Nuriko lovin' him an' helpin' him out an' bein' his pal, he figured he owed the guy somethin', even if the Nuriko he knew was buried so deep he'd never know.

So Hotohori…yeah, okay, so he fucking _kissed_ him. I wasn't there, I toldja, an' I ain't gonna go inta any fucking detail, so ya can get that hentai look off yer face! The point is, havin' Hotohori doin' that broke through whatever'd been keepin' Nuriko's memories all locked up, an' just like that, Nuriko was back. He remembered his sister an' cross-dressin' an' bein' in love with Hotohori, an' all that other shit he forgot before, an' now that Hotohori'd finally fucking realized how he felt about Nuriko, they could be all happy an' lovey-dovey an' shit, blah blah blah, _the end_.

Only… Well, it ain't that simple, is it? 'Cause if Nuriko remembers bein' in paradise with his sister, then what's it gotta be like for him, suddenly bein' back in the world again? Feelin' pain an' grief an' all that other nasty shit that comes with bein' alive?

I'll tell ya the truth: I don't know. I mean, Iunno anybody tougher 'n Nuriko…but ya gotta wonder if somethin' like this'd be too much for anybody, even him.

Eh, what am I sayin'? He'll tough it out. Shit, you just watch. Before ya know it, he'll be prancin' around in those fucking gowns of his again, grinnin' all big an' hangin' all over Hotohori-sama. 'Cause who fucking says that just 'cause you're a Suzaku seishi ya can't have a happy ending? Huh?

An' Nuriko deserves his.

I just hope ta Suzaku he gets it.

* * *


	2. 1: Shards

**F A L L E N**

by Ryuen

_1.  Shards_

~*~

He had always, even before the realization of love, adored the way their voices blended in laughter.  There was just something about the way Nuriko's higher, huskier voice melded into his own gentle bass; it was a harmony of kinds, forming a new and beautiful melody that neither man could possibly have created alone, and it never ceased to send a warm and comfortable peace into the young emperor's heart.  

Now, as he sat before the vanity, combing and shaping his long brown hair, Hotohori found himself wishing that that pleasant laughter could follow him into the audience chamber.  Suzaku knew he would certainly need that peaceful feeling today.

"Ne, Hotohori-sama," Nuriko was saying, smiling reassuringly as he worked a towel over his damp, cropped hair.  "I'm sure it'll be fine.  You shouldn't worry about it so much."  
  


Sighing, the young emperor let his arm sag to his side; the moment his fingers left it, the high imperial bun flooded down over his shoulders in a wave of silken chestnut, and then lay still.  "I know," he admitted quietly.  "But I can't seem to help myself.  It has, after all, been several years since I've seen him, and--"  He shook his head, letting his tired gaze drift to the array of combs, brushes, and clasps on the vanity table.  "When I was small, Lao was my mentor and tutor--my substitute father, mother, and older brother.  He was everything to me, Nuriko, but I allowed my mother to dismiss him over her own petty whims.  I...I can't imagine he was terribly pleased with me for that.  Why would he return now, after so many years, and request an audience with me?"

Shrugging and tossing the towel at a nearby chair, Nuriko moved to the younger man's side and placed his hands on the broad, velvet-encased shoulders.  "It'll be fine," he soothed, offering the mirror a wide smile over Hotohori's shoulder.  "You're the emperor, now, ne?  Not a child.  It'll be fine."  And then, cheeks flushing a deep rose, Nuriko leaned in and pressed his lips lightly to the younger man's cheek, holding them there for only an instant before drawing back with a shy smile.  "It'll be fine," he repeated softly.

Despite himself, Hotohori smiled.  "Perhaps you're right.  In any case," he continued, returning to the task of twisting his hair into the imperial bun, "I'm afraid I'll most likely be gone for most of the day, again.  After the audience session is finished, however, I would be honored if you would join me for dinner."  
  


A flicker of some emotion passed through Nuriko's eyes, but vanished beneath a tight-lipped smile before he could put his finger on it.  "Will this, ah...be a _dress_ dinner?" he asked.

Snapping the last hair clip into place, Hotohori let his arms fall and turned to face the smaller man.  "I've already told you," he said quietly.  "You needn't pretend anymore if you don't want to.  People will talk regardless of who I am involved with, so long as I am involved with someone.  If they must talk, let them at least talk of the truth."  
  


Again, that flicker of emotion touched the small seishi's features, but was swallowed up even more quickly by a smile than the last one.  "Hotohori-sama, I don't mind...pretending.  Anyway, what with the war and all that's going on...  You need to have their respect, Hotohori-sama.  That's what's important."  The unspoken, _Not me_, hung in the air between them for a few moments; just as the young emperor was drawing breath to comment on it, another thought struck him, making his eyes narrow.

"Nuriko," he said slowly, "have any of my advisers...spoken with you lately?"

There was a brief pause, and then Nuriko laughed softly and moved to a nearby chair, on the back of which hung a green tunic and pants.  The violet-haired seishi was still clad in the soft blue robe he'd slept in, which criss-crossed over his chest, was cinched with a piece of matching fabric at his waist, and then hung down nearly to his knees.  As Hotohori watched, the eighteen-year-old gathered the tunic and pants into his arms and started for the door to the bath, seeming very purposely to be avoiding the young emperor's stare.  "W-Why would your advisers want to talk to _me_?"

"Perhaps," Hotohori said levelly, "to advise you against allowing anyone to know that the emperor of Konan is romantically involved with a man?"  
  


One glimpse of Nuriko's face, pale and tight, before he vanished into the bath room, was enough to confirm the young emperor's suspicions.  What Nuriko said, however, was, "Ne, Hotohori-sama--shouldn't you be going?  They'll be waiting for you..."

For a moment, he saw himself leaping from his chair, dashing into the bath, and sweeping Nuriko up into his arms, holding him close until that quaver faded from his voice and he knew that it didn't _matter_ what anyone else thought...  He certainly wanted to.  Despite the fact that it had been less than a week since he had realized the feelings he held for the smaller man, it felt, somehow, like he'd held them for much longer than that.  There was an age and maturity to the love he felt for Nuriko that surpassed even the few years they'd known each other, and when he lay there in the dark of his bed at night, Nuriko's body a warmth in his arms, it seemed almost...familiar.  But...

Sighing, Hotohori rose to his feet and--after one more quick glance in the mirror--slipped his hands into the folds of his robes and started for the door.  He had a sudden urge to pry more information out of Nuriko, demand to know which of his advisers had spoken to him and be sure to set whoever it was straight...  He sighed again.  _But, I have a country to run.  He knows that.  He knows that I would much rather be with him, but that my duty as emperor of Konan outweighs even what I feel for him.  He must know._  "I'll see you in a few hours," he called to the closed door.  _And I'll have a little talk with my advisers in the meantime, _he added silently_.  One of them will tell me who it was...if it wasn't _all_ of them, that is.  _"Will you be having lunch with Miaka again today?"

There was a brief pause, through which the young emperor could hear the rustle of cloth.  "Iie," Nuriko said at last, voice muffled slightly by the door.  "I was...I was going to eat with Houki today.  In the gardens."

Hotohori frowned. _Something seems odd about his voice..._  Before he could puzzle out the strange tone, however, there came a pounding on the door to the outer chambers, and the sound of one of his advisers' voices, loud and impatient.  The young emperor winced.  "I will see you tonight, Nuriko," he told the door.  "I..."  He swallowed, a tingle traveling the length of his spine.  "I...love you."  
  


And then, as the adviser's voice rose again, Hotohori turned and hurried for the door to his chambers, and was soon hurrying down the walkway with a scolding voice in his ear.  He was halfway to the audience chamber before he realized that the reason Nuriko's voice had sounded odd...was because the smaller man had been crying.

~*~

The sobs came quickly this time--more quickly than usual, at any rate.  He barely managed to slam the bath door behind him before that familiar ache started in his chest, and only an instant later, the tears were streaming down his cheeks, clogging his nose and choking down his throat.

_Get control of yourself, Nuriko!  He's still out there!  Do you want him to see you crying?  What do you think he'll think if he sees you like this?  _

"Will you be having lunch with Miaka again today?"

It was an effort, but after a few deep breaths, greatly camoflauged by the rustling of cloth, he was able to come mostly under control, and actually managed to draw enough breath to speak.  "Iie," he answered, scrubbing at his eyes and resisting the urge to clear his throat.  "I was...I was going to eat with Houki today."  Scrambling to reinforce the lie with something that might sound believable, he added, "I-In the gardens."

That, at least, would probably be true.  The beauty of the gardens, and the soft way the various scents--jasmine, lilies, river salt, and churned earth--mingled in his nostrils made life seem almost worth living; small wonder he spent so much time there, in the only place outside of Hotohori-sama's arms where the pain seemed to fade. 

_It wasn't always like this.  I was...I was happy once; I know I was.  I just can't seem to remember what it felt like..._

The thought trailed off as there came a sudden pounding from the outer chambers; it would be Eiri-san, Nuriko knew, scolding the young emperor for his tardiness.  Since Nuriko had returned to Konan a week ago, Eiri-san had arrived with a similar message almost every morning; the Court was abuzz with rumors that Heika-sama was involved with a woman who made him consistently late for his morning audience session.  Few of those rumors were terribly kind, making him glad that Hotohori seemed oblivious to them.

He was just reaching for the strip of fabric that held his robe together, hefting the green tunic in his free hand, when he heard--muffled through the door but so seemingly-sincere that it brought tears to his eyes--the murmur of Hotohori's voice:  "I love you."

The words sent a tremor down his spine and a weakness to his knees; it seemed a strange reaction to the words he'd longed to hear for so long, but the casual, familiar tone beneath them...   It made them seem realer, somehow.  It made him actually think that perhaps he should believe them.

"I love you, too," he whispered.  The young emperor was already gone, of course, most likely working his way towards the audience chamber, but somehow, he felt better just for having said it.

The warm feeling, unfortunately, didn't last long.  He dressed slowly, pulling the fine, gold-embroidered green tunic over his head and tugging it down over his hips; by the time he'd slipped into the loose-fitting, cream-colored pants and secured them at his waist with a length of gold fabric, nothing remained of the warmth but a vague memory.  Suddenly finding himself, again, at the point of tears, Nuriko let himself slide to the floor and drew his knees to his chest.

The feeling was familiar, by now; it began with a dark, swirling dizziness, circling around his head and making everything--objects, rooms, emotions, memories--seem blurry and dim.  Next, there came that frightening, familiar darkness, clenching at his heart and dragging him downwards, into a heavy black sea that wrapped around him so tightly that he could barely breathe, dragging him down through the murky water until he'd sunk so deep that there was no light, no warmth...nothing..._nothing_..._nothing..._

The first time it had happened, only one day after Hotohori's kiss sent the memories of the afterlife flooding back into him, he'd been sure he was dying, and that thought had not been unwelcome.  Had someone asked him to describe how it felt, to be sucked into that darkening sea and pressed between the waves, he wouldn't have been able to find any words with which to speak of it; few words ever came to him when he was in that place, and when they did, they were too loud and echoed maddeningly in his brain, driving him ever closer to the certainty that there would only ever be one way to escape.  Yet, there were words for it, small and inaccurate as they were; _he felt tiny.  Insignificant.  Unimportant.  Suffocated and unwanted and helpless.  Lost.  Lost and alone--forever, forever alone..._

There was very little that he could do, when the depression struck.  He could cry; that helped sometimes, as the purging of tears often drew him enough out of the emotional paralysis to break free.  He could go out walking or running, too, although it was rare that that kind of energy was available to him during times like these; as such, he usually just sat still on the floor for a few hours, sometimes falling asleep and sometimes just staring blankly and suffering, until something changed.  Sometimes, the depression would slide away of its own accord after enough time had passed, leaving him in a thankful peace...and sometimes, it would stay until he did something about it, or--at the very least--until someone came calling, and he was forced to hide it beneath the mask of a smile. 

Nuriko slumped wearily against the door.  _ I can't go through this again.  Suzaku, please...there must be something I can do, some way I can break free of this...  Please, there must be. _

He sat there for a few moments, waiting irrationally for some answer, and then sank a bit more and soon found himself lying on his back on the floor.  The words had begun to spin in his head, dark and accusing and jumbled, in a variety of voices that all sounded suspiciously like his own:

_...don't deserve to live can never be together need an heir don't see why you'd ever think he'd love you doesn't really love you anyway paradise no pain don't you want to go back there? get to live when she didn't don't deserve him won't respect him anymore if they find out he's involved with a man don't you want to go back there? no pain..._

Clapping both hands over his ears as if it would help, Nuriko sat up and crawled to his feet, glancing around the luxurious bath in desperation.  The floor was a smooth and polished blond wood, the bath itself a deep, rectangular basin cut into the center of the floor.  A variety of scented soaps and oils and flower petals sat in a delicate basket at the edge, sending out a steady stream of perfumed air, and beside them was a pile of towels, several wash cloths, and a small container of hair-soap, all of which were the same crimson shade as Hotohori's imperial robes.  As Nuriko's eyes drifted from one object to the other, he caught a glimpse of movement from the other side of the room, and found himself staring, suddenly, at his own reflection in the huge, half-spherical mirror that adorned the far wall.  

Before entirely aware of what he was doing, he found himself walking forwards, side-stepping the array of bath items, and moving towards the mirror.  Once he'd halted in front of it, he spent a long time staring into it, taking in his short, disheveled violet hair, his puffy, blood-shot eyes, his too-pale face, his small, too-thin body that looked almost painfully-out-of-place beneath the fine green tunic...  

_...don't deserve him don't deserve to live won't respect him if they know so much pain here never escape never never never escape nothing you can do have to live with it forever until you die don't deserve him doesn't love you until you die..._

Crying out in frustration and anguish, Nuriko pulled back a fist and, before the thought of just what he was doing occurred to him, hurled it forward and let it slam into the mirror.  The reflection of himself shivered once, as if begging to be allowed to remain, and then splintered into a thousand shining pieces and exploded from the wall.  He closed his eyes reflexively, shards of glass prickling against the skin of his face and arms, and it seemed a very long time before he could find the strength to open them again.

When he finally did, he stared at the wall in shock.  Nothing remained of the mirror at all except a thin frame of wood; his fist, meanwhile, was still pressed to the wall where the glass had been, knuckles white, the warmth of blood trickling down over his fingers.  Fascinated rather than alarmed, Nuriko pulled the injured fist away from the wall and stared at it, examining the slender length of glass that had buried itself within the flesh.  Tendrils of scarlet oozed from the wound, seeping down towards his arm, but strangely, the low tremor of pain felt...somehow welcome.  Not only that, but all traces of the depression, of that dark, suffocating sea, had vanished beneath it, as easily as if they'd never been there at all.

Shaking his head in astonishment, he crossed to the bath and grabbed one of the towels; he would have to get rid of it afterwards, of course, and it would no doubt be a difficult thing to get Hotohori-sama's mirror fixed before the young emperor returned in the evening, but he doubted it would be impossible.  

_Maybe I _will_ have lunch with Houki,_ he thought, using the towel to gently tug the glass from his hand.  The flow of blood increased, as he'd expected it would, but the other towel, dipped briefly in the cooling water of the bath, stemmed it almost immediately.  The pain remained, however, as did the strange, inexplicable feeling of satisfaction.  

The flow of blood was just beginning to fade off, leaving him with a dull ache in his hand and two very blood-stained towels, when he heard the sound of the outer chamber door opening.  He gasped, glancing at the broken mirror guiltily, and spent a long moment praying that it would only be one of the maids, coming to clean up and drain the water from the bath...

"Nuriko?  Ne, Nuriko, are you in here?"  

Miaka.  Eyes going wide in panic, the small seishi got to his feet and hurried over to the bath door, pressing his body against it in case the girl thought to try the knob.  Naturally, if she was looking for him, she would check this room before leaving; there would be no pretending that he wasn't here.

"I'm, ah...I'm in here, Miaka," he called, forcing a note of joviality into his voice.  "I'm getting dressed."

He heard the sound of shoes on carpeting; a moment later, Miaka's voice came again, this time from just on the other side of the door.  "Ohayoo!" she greeted cheerily.  "I was just going to get some breakfast, and I thought you might want to come along."  
  


"Ah..."  He glanced around the room, searching for some excuse.  "I can't," he said at last, a measure of relief seeping into his tone.  "I was just about to take a bath."  
  


There was a slight pause.  "I thought you were getting dressed."  
  


"_Un_dressed," he corrected.  "Ne, though, why don't we have lunch?"  He smiled, feeling more like himself than he had since Mount Black.  "If you're done with breakfast by then, that is."  
  


Miaka giggled.  "Hai, hai, I will be.  I'll see you in the dining hall in a few hours then, okay?"  
  


"Hai.  See you then."  
  


He waited until the click of the door closing before letting out a deep sigh and sinking to the floor.  His hand throbbed in time with his heartbeat, tingles of pain lancing up his arm, but aside from that minute anguish, he found that the depression had fled down into the deepest parts of his heart, and for the first time in days, he felt truly free.

~*~


	3. 2: Sensei

[Fallen]

**Disclaimer:  **Fushigi Yuugi does not belong to me, and yeaaaaah, I was lying about owning its French Twin.  I do, however, hold rights to its RUSSIAN twin, Fushki Yugki, and its main characters Hotladmir, Nurikli, Chirikvid, and Miaslo.  

**Author's Note:  **Monstrous thanks to all who reviewed the first chapter, and, of course, to those who read, said, "Eh, she'll never write more," and went along on their merry ways. ^_~.  I grrrrrrrreatly appreciate your support and kind words, although Sumari Mikhale, I'm sorry, but I don't do lemons. ^_^;  Hope you'll enjoy the story anyway, though!   ^__^.  

Also, as I don't have terribly much knowledge about Hotohori's advisers (e.g., how many of them, what they look like, etc.), I'll be taking some liberties with them, as well as some of the more numerical details of Hotohori's past.  If this troubles you, just repeat, "It's just an AU.  It's just an AU.  It's just an AU," and you should feel better. *nod*

~*~

_2.  Sensei._

  
He was trembling, white-knuckled fingers clutching the arm rests of the throne, lips pale and pressed against each other.  Despite his tardiness, the usual array of nobles, advisers, and guardsmen hadn't quite filled the room, yet, and as such, none of the morning's visitors had been escorted into the chamber yet.  Usually, he adored it when there was extra time to simply sit there, observing the people in their fine coats and dresses, and watching as the stern-faced guards lined the stone walls of the chamber, but today, he wished desperately that they could simply get on with things.  He was nervous enough without being forced to _sit_ here, enduring the echoes of haughty laughter and conversation--this mainly from the nobles who made it their business to keep close to the emperor, perhaps thinking that by doing so, they would amplify their own status--and _waiting._  Gods, he hated waiting...

_I should've stayed in bed.  I should've played sick and stayed in bed and spent the day with Nuriko, not these pompous--_

He stopped himself short of the insult, sighing and letting his chin droop into his palm.  _Enough fantasies.  Kutou is moving in for the attack, most of the Border villages have been razed to the ground, and my leadership may be all that stands between this country and complete annihilation.  Be strong, Saihitei.  You are the only one who can do this._

Teeth clenching in determination, the young emperor drew himself up so he sat straight-backed on the throne, folded his hands neatly in his lap, and raised his chin to the assemblage.  "What is the delay?" he asked in a deep, resonant voice.  

To his satisfaction, everyone in the chamber froze.  The room itself was large and rectangular, with a long, velvety-crimson carpet stretching from the double doors to the dais on which the throne sat.  Several cushioned seats had been positioned on either side of the carpet, despite being set back at least fifteen feet from the dais, but as the majority of the nobles present were currently mingling, few of them were occupied.

Hotohori let his gaze sweep over everyone in the chamber, catching the eye of nobles, guardsmen, and royal advisers--who had been standing just below the dais, speaking in low, urgent whispers--and then, just as they all seemed at the point of bursting into speech at the same moment, he smiled slightly and drew breath to speak.

"I apologize for my tardiness," he told them, the hint of the smile still playing on his lips and words.  "But--"  His voice grew stronger, seeming to echo from every stone, every intricately-sewn tapestry, every body, every voice.  "--we are at war.  Our nation--our _people_--is being threatened, and no matter what might have...changed..."  He shook his head.  "We do not have time to delay.  From this moment on, we must be as one people--one mind.  And--"  The smile touched his lips again, gaze flickering to Eiri-san, who stood among the other advisers with a look of shock on his pale face.  "--we must try to be on-time.  Now.  What is the delay?"  
  


His gaze turned, automatically, to his advisers, the eight old men who had helped him so much over the past few years, but the voice that spoke next came, instead, from the chamber's huge double doors.

"I apologize, Heika-sama," came a voice that was somehow soft and resonant at the same time.  It seemed no more than a gentle murmur, and yet somehow, it echoed through the chamber as impressively as Hotohori's own words had.  "I was told that the audience session would not be starting until later, and took a walk through your gardens."  

The young emperor turned, eyes widening, and found the speaker standing framed in the doorway, clad in a long black robe that had been decorated with intricate silver dragons.  The figure's sleeves were pressed together in front of him, masking pale clasped hands, and the ring of hair that circled a mostly-bald head had been grown out for a tight ponytail, the length of which hung down over the robe's left shoulder. As Hotohori watched, the figure began to make its way down the long red carpet, taking short, respectful steps in black shoes that barely showed beneath the hem of the robe.  Finally, and just when most of the nobles had decided that it might be a good idea to return to their seats, the figure reached the carpeting just below the dais, bowed its head, and flashed a thin-lipped smile to the floor.

"My," Lao said softly, "how you've grown."

Hotohori found that he could only stare at the man at first, comparing this small, wrinkled man to the deep-voiced giant he'd known as a child.  The voice was the same, he found, albeit softer and gentler, and the face...  He remembered a stern-faced man with sharp, planar features, a hawk's nose, and two eyes as dark and black as pitch.  The man before him, however, had a face softened and rounded with age, the eyes dark but warm, the flesh creased and wrinkled.  Only Lao's hair, still as thick and black as the young emperor remembered, seemed to have held onto any sign of the past.  

"Lao-sensei," Hotohori heard himself murmur.  "It has...been a very long time."  
  


Straightening from the bow, the small man--hands still folded respectfully beneath his sleeves--offered a warm smile.  "Ten years," he said.  "In the face of a country that has existed for hundreds of years, that is not such a long time, is it, Saihitei?"  
  


He heard a gasp from his advisers at the informal words, but waved his hand at them before they could speak.  "No," he said with a smile, "I suppose it isn't."  
  


"Well," Lao said after a moment, clearing his throat, "after that magnificently-worded speech you gave a moment ago, I suppose there is no reason for me to delay the reasons for my coming with pleasantries.  I have come--"  The man's chin raised a bit.  "--to request reinstatement."  
  


Hotohori blinked.  "As...as my tutor?  I mean no offense, Lao-sensei, but I hardly need--"  
  


"No, no," Lao interjected with a shake of his head.  "No, not as your tutor, Saihitei."  He drew a deep breath, then let it seep out through pale, parted lips.  "I was not _only_ your tutor ten years ago; I was your father's most trusted adviser...and friend.  Before his death, Saihitei, he put papers into my possession that would guarantee me a place among the imperial advisers whenever I wished to return, so long as one of his dynasty sat beneath that crown."  Moving with a fluid kind of grace, the man reached into a large pocket at the side of his robe and drew out a rolled parchment; a servant boy immediately dashed forward to grab it, then hurried up the dais steps and placed it in Hotohori's outstretched hand.

The young emperor unfurled it, slim fingers trembling slightly, and studied the neat, familiar handwriting inside.  It was all he could do to resist pressing his fingers to his father's seal at the bottom.

"You must not be hasty, Heika-sama," came the voice of one of his advisers--Rou-san, if that thin, reedy voice was anything to judge by.  "Many things could have occurred in ten years that even your father--Suzaku guard his soul--could not predict.  Is it not a coincidence that this man should appear just as Kutou seems ready to move on us, and demand to be given access to the highest levels of military intelligence?"

Despite the logic behind it, the accusation made him irrationally angry; rather than say anything against it, however, Hotohori instead turned his eyes to Lao and regarded the man expectantly.  His former tutor hesitated only an instant before beginning to speak.

"I spent most of my life in servitude to others, Saihitei," Lao began slowly, his dark eyes seeming to glitter.  "Ten years ago, when I left the palace, I lived for myself for the first time in my life.  I became a simple fisherman, as my father had been before me.  I tended an herb garden and sold my wares on the back of a wagon.  I wore plain, simple clothes and made friends with plain, simple people, most of whom would live their entire lives without making any sort of a difference on the world beyond their small town.  I loved it, Saihitei, but then a few months ago, the Kutou army rode into that small town of plain, simple people and burned it to the ground."  That voice, so soft and warm, grew suddenly louder and stronger, so much like the one he remembered from his youth that he shivered.  "It was then that I realized that my place was not among those people, but rather here, in the one place where my knowledge and experience might be able to make a difference.  My presence did not help them there, Saihitei.  It might help them here."  

There was a long, measured pause, then Lao drew a breath and exhaled slowly.

"But, if you say the word, Heika, I will return to them, and do what I can for them from there.  It may not be much--"  His jaw clenched.  "--but at least it will be something."

~*~

The sun was just reaching its highest point in the sky when Nuriko emerged from Hotohori's chambers, clad in a gown of green and silver with sleeves large enough to hide his hands.  Eating, he knew, would be difficult without showcasing his injury, so he was considering telling Miaka that he wasn't feeling well; it wouldn't be too much of a stretch, anyway.  He hadn't had much of an appetite lately, and the transition from barely eating to not eating at all seemed minute in the face of all he'd been through over the last few weeks.  What was the discomfort of hunger, after all, when compared to the agony of having claws shoved through your chest, of having a piece of glass protruding from your hand?  
  


_Nothing.  Nothing at all._

He had snagged a passing maid an hour or so earlier and told her of the shattered mirror, mentioning that Heika would be extremely displeased if it was not fixed by the time the day's audience session was completed.  The maid, looking flustered and a little uncertain, had run off and immediately found the appropriate workmen; they had assured Nuriko that the mirror would be fixed in time, and when he'd left them, they'd been measuring the empty frame while a few maids swept up the glass.  Thanks to the voluminous gown, none of them had noticed the thick bandage wrapped around his right hand, and the towels themselves--as well as the guilty shard of glass--had been disposed of already, the towels tucked into a cart of dirty laundry, the glass buried in the soft earth below the walkway.  No one would ever know.

Smiling a little to himself, Nuriko stepped out onto the walkway and began the short walk to the dining hall, where he was sure Miaka would already be waiting.  The early afternoon air was warm and fresh, smelling of flower buds and churned soil, and when he leaned out over the walkway banister and gazed upwards, he was met with a vision of clear, perfect sky, unmarred by cloud or bird.  It was a beautiful day, made all the more beautiful by the peace and relief that had descended upon him over the last few hours, and he was just considering taking a detour through the gardens when a voice from ahead of him froze him in his tracks.

"How did you injure your hand?"  
  


Nuriko came to a staggering halt, eyes going wide in shock, and realized with a flash of anger that he'd unclasped his hands while lost in thought.  The bandage was now clearly visible, peeking out from one wide silken sleeve, but as luck would have it, the speaker seemed to be the only one around to see it.  

Swallowing, the violet-haired seishi lifted his gaze to study the man, and found himself facing a man just slightly taller than he himself was, dressed in a robe of fine black velvet, onto which had been sewn a variety of silver dragons.  The man's face was starting to wrinkle with age, giving Nuriko the impression that he was leaning into his fifties or so, but his hair was thick and black, ringing an otherwise-bald head before snaking down into a ponytail.  

His first thought was that the man was most likely a visiting nobleman, or perhaps some wealthy merchant come to prove that he was important enough to merit an audience with the emperor.  Something, however, warned him against these assumptions.  There was something different about this man, something that gave him the impression of regality and true nobility.  And there was something else, too--something he saw in those warm dark eyes...

"I apologize if I'm being intrusive," the man continued with a smile, bowing his head slightly, "but unless times have changed since last I was here, there is very little that a woman of the Court can do that will injure her as deeply as that."

"I...I cut myself," Nuriko heard himself murmur.  "A mirror broke."

"Ahh," the man said, "I see."  And then, eyes narrowing slightly, he covered the distance between them and--while Nuriko watched, too startled to break away--reached down, took the injured hand into his own, and lifted it up to the light.  "You're going to need to have the bandage changed soon," he said, peering at the hand as if examining a piece of metalwork for flaws.  "And I would suggest having it done by the palace doctor this time, rather than attempting it yourself.  He, at least, can treat the wound to help it to heal more quickly, and wrap it more efficiently.  I'm heading in that direction at the moment, actually, if you would like to join me."  The man paused, offering an almost apologetic smile.  "It seems I've forgotten to introduce myself.  My name is Lao.  Lao Xiang Liang."

"Nuriko," he managed.  "Demo...ah...I'm meeting someone right now, but thank you.  I'll see the doctor afterwards."

Lao stared at him for a few seconds, still clasping the injured hand with his own, and then he nodded, let out a breath, and gently released Nuriko's hand.  "See that you do," he said sternly.  "I'm sure you would hate if you were to lose the use of that hand because of something so silly as not making a trip to the doctor. "  And then, with a wide smile:  "It was a pleasure to meet you, Nuriko.  I look forward to our paths crossing again in the future."

The young seishi watched the man until he vanished around the far corner, trembling at the ease with which his injury had been discovered, and then he clasped his hands together and started again for the dining hall.  As he moved, he couldn't help but remember that gentle touch or those warm, somehow-sympathetic eyes, and how they had made him feel both comforted and shamed at the same time.  From what Hotohori had said of this man, of the one person who had made his lonely early years bearable, the contradiction didn't seem terribly strange.  It did, however, drag at his mood, and by the time he'd reached the door to the dining hall, it was no lie to tell Miaka that he wasn't feeling well.

~*~


	4. 3: Pins

~*~

_3.  Pins._

"A-Are you sure, Miaka-san?"  

Glancing up from her rapidly-emptying plate, Miaka gave the boy a reassuring smile.  "Hai, of course!" she said, waving a hand as if to brush the worried expression from the boy's features.  "Why wouldn't he be fine?  He and Hotohori are finally together!  I don't think I've ever seen them so happy."  Reaffirming the grip on her chopsticks, Miaka shoveled a few more bites of rice into her mouth, washing them down with a gulp of lemon-tinged water.  Then, smile fading, she let her gaze drift back to the thirteen-year-old.  Seated just across from her at the huge, cloth-covered table, Chiriko was staring disconsolately into a bowl of soup, a slender line arcing through his brow.  

"Why?" she asked in a small voice.  "Do...do _you_ think something's wrong with Nuriko?"

Chiriko didn't look up at first; he seemed to be trying to read the violet-haired seishi's mindset in the swirls of broth.  Finally, though, the boy folded his hands together on the table top and met Miaka's gaze, green eyes slightly narrowed in thought.  "I haven't seen him acting unhappy," he said at last, seeming to be measuring each word carefully before speaking it, "but I still think that we should keep a close eye on him, Miaka-san.  The woman who--"  He broke off, cheeks flushing, and blinked a few times before continuing.  "I _heard_," he corrected hastily, "that a boy who was brought back after having been dead had memories of the Sky, and they made him so miserable that he killed himself.  I...I don't think either of us wants that to happen to Nuriko-san."

Miaka shook her head firmly, deciding--at least for the moment--to ignore whatever it was that Chiriko had _almost_ said.  "Hai," she said.  "We can't let that happen.  But, ne, Nuriko's a shichiseishi, and he really does seem happy now that he and Hotohori-sama are together."

"Hai," Chiriko said slowly.  "But we should still be watching him very closely, Miaka-san."  
  


"Hai." 

She returned to her meal after that, as Chiriko did his, but her thoughts were far from the food.  _What if he's right?  Nuriko did sound weird this morning, and Hotohori said that he's been spending a lot of time alone in his room...  What if something _is_ wrong with him?  What if he's miserable and just pretending to be fine so that none of us will find out?  What if he's sitting there in his room right now, thinking about killing himself and he'll do it because he thinks that he doesn't have anything to live for because we were all too stupid to notice that he needed help--??_

"Miaka-san?"  
  


Blinking free of the frantic thoughts, she looked over at Chiriko, and found the boy sitting there with the spoon loose in his fingers, eyes wide and locked on her.  

"Nani?"  
  


"You've--"  He shook his head, blushing as if what he was about to say embarrassed him.  "You've already eaten all of your rice, Miaka-san."  
  


"Eh?  What're you--"  She glanced down, startled, and discovered that he was right; the chopsticks that she'd been bringing to her mouth over the last few seconds were completely devoid of food, as was the bowl beneath them.  Flushing, she set the utensils down and folded her hands on the tabletop.  

She sat there for only a moment or two, however, before leaping to her feet and starting for the door.  "I-I'm gonna go check on Nuriko," she managed a bit breathlessly, tossing the words over her shoulder as she moved.  "He was supposed to be meet me for lunch and--aoof!"  Just short of the door, she collided with something solid and warm; her hands went up and out automatically, and unless there was another flat-chested person at the palace who would be wearing the finest lace and silk, there was little mystery as to who it might be.

"Nuriko!" she exclaimed, taking an unsteady step backwards.  "Sorry I ran into you--but, ne, I'm glad you're here!  How're you...uh, how're you feeling?"  
  


A flicker of some unreadable emotion crossed his features at the question; as he worked at an answer, she took advantage of the silent moment to study him.  Clad in a loose-fitting gown of green, silver-lined silk, Nuriko somehow managed to look the part of an elegant Court Lady despite the fact that his hair, sheared recently by his own hand, was shorter than any respectable woman would wear it.  She wondered, for a moment, why on earth he would be walking around the palace grounds dressed as a woman after so many knew his true gender, but quickly dismissed it; after all, it was a sign that he remembered Kourin, and that was good...wasn't it?  

"I'm fine," Nuriko answered after a moment, frowning at her quizzically.  "Why wouldn't I be?"

Was it her imagination, or did he voice tremble just slightly...?  "You just...you just look a little pale."

Nuriko stared at her for a long moment, looking strangely fearful, and then abruptly, he nodded.  "Hai, Miaka, you're right," he said shakily.  "I-I'm not feel well.  I'm going to go back to my quarters and rest for awhile.  I'll see you later though, ne?"

"You'll--"

But before she could say any more, he'd spun and hurried back out the door; by the time she collected enough of her wits to step out onto the walkway after him, he'd already vanished around a far corner.

~*~

He went to his quarters, not Hotohori's, shoved open the door, and then slammed it behind him.  His entire body was shaking, his injured hand clenching within its bandages, while angry and inexplicable tears welled in his eyes.  As he moved towards the dresser, pushed as it was against the back wall by the vanity, he spared a glance at the unmade bed, where Hotohori had kissed him for the very first time.  It felt like a lifetime ago, and the mere thought of it sent the tears, which had until then only been on the point of spilling over, trickling down over his cheeks.  

He didn't pay them any attention, though, and soon found himself standing above one of the mahogany drawers, digging through the contents with shaky fingers.  It seemed a very long time before he found the small, squarish box of hairpins, and by the time he had, his hands were trembling so badly that the box slipped from his fingers and went toppling to the floor.

_You're worthless.  You're so worthless.  Making everybody worry about you.  Troubling everyone with your problems.  You're worthless.  _

Hairpins went everywhere, scattering around the room and burying themselves in the plush carpet; Nuriko was careful, as he lowered himself to a sitting position on the floor, not to sit on any of them, but one jabbed into the back of his thigh, anyway.  He didn't bother to remove it.  Instead, he let the fingers of his good hand drop down and pluck one of the long, pearl-adorned pins from the carpet; it glistened silver in the afternoon light, seeming to sparkle in his hand.

_Hotohori-sama's going to know what you did as soon as he sees your hand.  You think you can hide that from him?  He'll know. And when he knows, then he'll feel bad and you'll have hurt him AGAIN and how the hell can you live with yourself when all you do is hurt everybody who cares about you??  They'd all be better off if you were dead, do you know that?  They'd all be better off.  They WERE better off.  They only had to deal with ONE pain then, and that wouldn't've lasted long, anyway.  But, no.  No, you had to come back, and now they can spend the rest of their lives being hurt by you.  Worthless.  I hate you.  I hate you so much._

He'd only wanted to pin his hair up, get it out of his face...hadn't he?  He wasn't even sure anymore.  All he knew was that the hatred was welling up inside of him and he was so angry, he was so _angry_ and this was the only way to make it okay again, the only way that he might feel a little _better_--

His right arm, the one that ended in a mass of bloodied bandages, lay upside down against his leg, and before he was entirely aware of what he was doing, he'd lifted the pin, drawn it over to the smooth skin of his forearm, and let the tip brush gently against the flesh.  He applied pressure slowly, scraping the pin down over his arm, forming a slender pink line...and then, just as the rage and the hatred and the sorrow and the depression were surging up over his head, readying to swallow him into themselves, he tensed his muscles, gritted his teeth, and tore the pin down over his arm.

A flash of pain--_but nothing like then, nothing like the claws_--jolted up his arm, and as he watched, the deceptively-slim line pinkened, then bent to admit a stream of bright, oozing scarlet.  He just watched it at first, fascinated by the darkening tendrils that crept down his arm.

_There.  That's what you deserve.  That's what you deserve.  Pain, like you give them.  Pain, like you DESERVE._

It scared him, the depth of the hatred in his own voice; but not nearly enough.  Drawing a long, deep breath against the pain, which was already ebbing, he sliced another gash in his arm, this one shallower but dangerously-close to the thick blue vein at his wrist.  

As the blood seeped over his skin, slowed by the tiny hairs on his arm, he found his eyes drifting to that wide blue vein, to that tender patch of skin that even now was hot with his own blood.  He stared at it for a very long time, thinking and considering--weighing--and then he brought his other hand up before his face and studied the pin squeezed between his fingers.  It was so small...   And yet, it could kill him, couldn't it?  Something so small could kill him.  His frenzied breathing slowed as he examined the pin, his heartbeat drifting back to a normal rhythm.

_It could kill me.  Something so small.  It could--_

A shrill voice sliced suddenly into his thoughts.  "Nuriko?"  _Thud, thud, thud.  _"Nuriko, are you in there?  Nuriko!"

Almost sadly, he lay the pin down on the carpet beside him.

_I can't.  I can't do it now.  I can't, because if I do, Miaka will find me and she'll save me somehow and so I can't...  Later.  I have to do it later._

Features smoothed and calm, Nuriko rose to his feet, tendrils of blood trickling down his arm, and walked to the door.  "What is it, Miaka?" he asked quietly. 

There was a pause.  "N...Nuriko, are you okay?"  She sounded near tears.  "C-Can I please come in?"

Another stab of guilt hit into his heart, and he gritted his teeth against it.  _You just keep hurting people, don't you?_  _This has to stop.  This has to stop _now_. _ "Gomen ne, Miaka," he answered, smiling to keep the anguish from his voice.  "I'm really not feeling well.  In fact...would you tell Hotohori-sama that I won't be able to eat with him tonight?  I--"  He glanced at the spilled pins, glittering there on the carpet, and swallowed.  "I think I'll just stay in my room tonight and...and sleep."

"N-Nuriko, I really need to talk to you.  Can I please come in?"

_Listen to her.  So upset.  So upset because of _you_.  Stop torturing her like this! _

He knew that it was a bad idea, but she sounded so upset...  Sighing, he wrapped his fingers around the door knob and pulled it towards him; he only let it slide open an inch or so, however, before stopping.  "Miaka," he said wearily, peering out through the opening, "I'm fine.  Really.  I'm just ti--"

He broke off with a start, and suddenly all the breath seemed to have left his lungs.  

Miaka stood there in front of the door, clad in her usual pleated brown skirt and white button-down, her cheeks glistening with tears.  But, behind her...  Behind her.  Long, velvety red robes, dangling from muscled shoulders, rippling slightly in the afternoon breeze...  And above those robes, framed by silken strands of chestnut, were eyes--amber, but with just a few flecks of green--that shone with concern...and love.

"Nuriko," Hotohori said quietly, "open the door."

~*~


	5. 4: Discovered

_4.  Discovered._

~*~

He had been seated at his throne, listening dully to the request of some minor lord for funding, when suddenly the double doors had burst open and Miaka was standing there.  She'd stood there for only an instant, nothing but a silhouette against the brightness of the afternoon, and then had sprinted down the red carpet and stopped just before the dais.  The lord, sputtering and blinking rapidly, had started to say something, but Hotohori held up his hand before he could.

"Miaka?"  

 Her eyes were wide and panic-stricken, her breath coming in harsh gasps.  "Hotohori, it's...it's Nuriko," she'd panted.  "I-I found...  Something's wrong, please, you have to come with me!"

He had done so without question, dismissing the audience session and leaving his advisers to handle the angry lordlings, and had hurried out onto the walkway.  Along the way, ripples of panic had twisted maddeningly through his brain, and he'd wanted _so badly_ to just ask Miaka what was wrong, to ask her what she'd found...but, something inside of him was too afraid to ask.  And so he'd just followed, imperial stoicism held before him like a shield, and had prayed to Suzaku that somehow, _somehow_, everything was all right.

Now, standing before the door with Nuriko's eyes on his, he could see very clearly that it was not.

Nuriko's face was pallid and worn, his lips trembling and his eyes wide with panic.  Fine green silk hung from his shoulders, and the very presence of it made the young emperor frown--_I thought that was behind him now.  I thought he was done with dressing up, done with pretending..._

_Why is he so afraid to open the door?_

He risked a glance at Miaka and found her with jaw clenched tightly, tears welling at the corners of her eyes.  Seeming to sense his gaze, the girl swallowed and glanced back at him.  "He's...he's bleeding," she whispered.  "He came to lunch and when he left, I...I found blood on the walkway."  
  


As Hotohori spun back to Nuriko, stunned and afraid, he was just in time to watch the older man's expression change; one moment, it was drawn and blank, no emotion visible but for his eyes...and then, suddenly, it was a mask of panic.  "No," he said, much too quickly.  "I-I'm okay; I just cut myself on a broken piece of glass but I'm fine, really; I'm _fine_."

"Nuriko," Hotohori repeated, "open the door."

The man gave a high, false laugh, shaking his head.  "I'm fine, really; thanks for worrying about me, but--"  
  


"Open.  The door."  He swallowed.  "Please."

Nuriko closed his eyes, leaning his forehead against the door and shaking his head.  "I-I can't."

Suddenly very afraid of what he was about to see, Hotohori stepped forward, slipped past Miaka, and stopped just before the door.  His hand raised to cover Nuriko's own, and he was surprised to find it ice-cold.  "Why?" he murmured.  "Why can't you open the door?"

There was a long, trembling pause.  And then Nuriko opened his eyes, lifted his head, and stared at Hotohori with a face so consumed with self-hatred that it made him shiver.  "Because I don't deserve to be saved," he whispered.

It came together for him, then--the blood, the solitude, the desire to be left alone to sleep.  _Oh, God, to sleep...!_  Still clasping Nuriko's hand tightly within his own, Hotohori pushed on the door, and watched the small seishi step out of its path.  And then he saw the man's right arm, hanging limply at his side with thick splotches of crimson soaking into the sleeve, bandages circling that small hand, and something inside of him broke.  Behind Nuriko, he could see dozens of pins scattered over the carpet, and as his eyes drifted forward, he couldn't help but notice the places where the carpet had been darkened with blood.

_Nuriko's blood.  Oh, dear Suzaku, Nuriko...  Why would you do this?_

Behind him, Miaka had given a choked cry at the sight of all the blood; her breath came in high-pitched gasps, shaky and ragged, only partially muffled by her hands.  But, Nuriko...  Nuriko only stood there, looking sad and defeated, and stared at him as if waiting for some sort of punishment.  

For some reason, as he stared into those eyes and saw the sorrow and utter hopelessness that filled them, he felt all rage and panic and grief drain from his body.  It seeped out of him slowly, loosening his muscles and soothing his anguished heart, and when it was gone, nothing was left behind but the deep love he felt for this man.  When he moved forward and into the room, his steps were steady.

He didn't say anything; he was too afraid that, if he did, he would start to cry, and he had to be strong.  For Nuriko, he had to be strong.  So, he slipped his arm gently around the smaller man's back, bent down, and lifted Nuriko off the ground, pulling him to his chest with left arm supporting his knees.  The bloodied right arm dangled lifelessly as he moved, staining his robes when it brushed them, but he tried not to pay any attention.  With Miaka hurrying along behind him, the young emperor started down the walkway towards the palace doctor's quarters, and ignored all stares and murmurs along the way.  

~*~

He hadn't been entirely sure as to how to work the mirror when Chichiri gave it to him; now, sitting at his desk with it propped up before him, he was still uncertain.  It seemed little more than a normal--albeit rather plain--mirror, a simple ring of wood circling a piece of reflective glass.  He had propped it up on his desk, balancing it against a stack of parchments in need of signing, and now that he sat before it, he couldn't help but study his own reflection within it.  

He looked haggard and pale, as if he had spent several nights without sleep; his hair was just as silky and fine as usual, flooding down over his shoulders, but his eyes...  His eyes were dark and haunted, still glistening with the sheen of unshed tears, and a permanent line seemed to have formed itself in his brow.  

Before he'd had much chance to ponder this, however, the glass of the mirror suddenly began to shimmer, and as he watched, it resolved itself into a face--_Miaka's_ face.  Stunned, he leaned closer to the mirror, eyes wide and mouth hanging open, and was just trying to figure out why he would see _her_ face, when all of a sudden she smiled.

"Gomen ne no da, Hotohori-sama," she said, in a voice that _was_ Miaka's, but also was _not_.  One finger pressed to her chin, and she tilted her head a bit to the side; her eyes had scrunched up into slits, leaving little doubt as to her identity.  "I'll explain about this later no da.  Did you want something?"

Behind her--or, rather, _him_--he could see a backdrop of snowy trees and mountains, and thought he heard Tasuki muttering something a few feet away.  Turning his attention back to the smiling image in the mirror, the young emperor sighed.  "I'm sorry to bother you, Chichiri," he said quietly, "but I need to talk to you...about Nuriko."

The slitted eyes opened, and for a moment, despite the auburn hair, despite the freckled features, Chichiri resembled no one but himself.  When he spoke, his voice was low and serious.  "How is he?"  
  


Hotohori shook his head, struggling against the sudden desire to cry--but, no.  Not now.  Not in these robes, not in front of Chichiri.  "He...he's not doing well," he managed.  "He cut himself, Chichiri.  I'm afraid he was going to try to...to kill himself."

A sudden silence fell; only a instant later, Tasuki had leaped into view behind Chichiri, his eyes wide and panicked, fiery hair hanging low over his forehead.  "What the _fuck_ did you just say?" he demanded.  "Where is he?  I'll fuckin' talk some sense into him!"

Turning, Chichiri put a hand on the bandit's arm.  "Calm down, no da."  Then, eyes returning to Hotohori's face, the monk shook his head.  "I was afraid of this happening.  I thought that Nuriko might be strong enough to fight it, but--"  He shook his head again, this time almost sadly; behind him, Tasuki seemed to be trembling with rage.  "--I guess he couldn't no da."

"What can I do to help him, Chichiri?  How can I...how can I stop him if he truly wants to die?"

"You _better_ fuckin' stop him!" Tasuki shouted angrily.  He jaw was clenched tightly, his hands balled into fists.  "If anything fuckin' happens to him, I swear to Suzaku I'll--"  
  


"_Tasuki_," Chichiri said sharply, and the bandit broke off mid-sentence.  "It isn't Hotohori-sama's fault no da."  His attention again shifted back to the mirror.  "Hotohori-sama, there is very little information available on resurrection magic and its after-effects, but what is availabe, Chiriko would have read.  He's the one who brought Nuriko back no da--he's the one you should ask about this.  If Nuriko can't remember his time in the Sky, then I don't know why he would be feeling this way.  You'll have to ask Chiriko.  I'm sorry I can't be any more help than that no da."  
  


A dark, churning sensation began in his stomach; he had to swallow a few times before he could speak.  "He...he remembers now," he managed.  "He remembered a few days ago, when I--"  His shoulders went rigid.  "When I kissed him.  This is my fault, isn't it?"  
  


Tasuki stared at him blankly over Chichiri's shoulder.  "You fuckin' _kissed_ him?"

"Daijobu no da, Hotohori-sama," the monk said calmly, but his eyebrows had pressed together on his forehead.  "Anything could have triggered Nuriko's memory; it would probably have happened sooner or later no da.  And that, at least, explains what must be going through his mind no da."  
  


Hotohori swallowed.  "What?"  
  


"He remembers the Sky, Hotohori-sama.  He remembers being in a place where there was no pain, no grief, and probably a place where he was reunited with his sister no da."  
  


"He--"  The young emperor closed his eyes in anguish, fingers clenching together in his lap.  "He wants to go back."  
  


"No," Chichiri said firmly.  "He _thinks_ that he wants to go back.  He died, Hotohori-sama, and rather than being rewarded with a peaceful afterlife, he was brought back to earth no da, where there is pain, heartache, and anguish.  That would be hard for anyone to suffer through no da, but Nuriko...  Nuriko has always been fragile no da.  When he was only a child, he destroyed himself to live his sister's life.  What does that say about how much he values himself no da?  Hotohori-sama, I believe that this desire to return to the Sky will pass once enough time has gone by.  It's an adjustment, no da, but once it's made, once Nuriko realizes that he has more to live for than death, I think he'll be fine."  The monk swallowed; Miaka's eyes were ancient in his face.  "You just have to make sure that he lives that long no da."

~*~


End file.
